


You Sure Think You’re Funny, Don’t You?

by Sherb42



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Fluff, Gen, What's the point of having an older brother if you can't make fun of him, Why don't all the Thunderbird cannons have their own ao3 tags? That's dumb, this is the one with the puppets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27662827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherb42/pseuds/Sherb42
Summary: Scott Tracy Gets stuck in an elevator. Thankfully for him, International Rescue is here to help.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	You Sure Think You’re Funny, Don’t You?

**Author's Note:**

> Yaknow that picture of the firemen helping the police that are stuck in an elevator? Yeah, imagine that energy but like, for the whole fic. I think about that photo at least once a week I think. 
> 
> Also I looked up elevator repair for this. I didn’t learn anything but it’s now something I can say that I’ve looked into.

It was always an interesting energy on Tracy Island after a rescue. Debriefs that always turned into lectures on how it could have done better and that exhausted feeling of unease you get while trying to wind down with the knowledge that you still need to be ready to go out again at any time. The only person who seemed to be able to get used to it was Alan, gifted with the ability to just clonk out as soon as they got home, usually still while in uniform, much to their father’s dismay. 

The only thing good about it was that Scott, being the one who usually got home first, got first dibs of the good shower. 

Virgil and Gordon were still returning from the danger zone. It had been a bit of a complicated rescue that took them longer (and a _lot_ more controlled explosions) than originally planned, but everybody was able to get out safe and alive, so that was the main thing. 

Thunderbird 1 was given the all-clear from base to land, the pool retreated, and he landed without a hitch. He got out of the ship once the catwalk was there to greet him. Scott looked over the walkway and out over the hanger and made a mental note that they needed to buff out his ship’s nose cone. There was an exhale and a check of his watch; the other two should be back within the next half hour. 

The walkway made an echo as he went over to the elevator by the wall. It was a cold, slightly hollow echo that half sounded that way because of saltwater damage. Why had nobody foreseen that happening on a tropical island was far beyond him. 

Scott pushed the button for up, since that’s what you usually did when faced with an elevator such as this, and walked in after the ‘ding.’ It was a smaller passenger elevator, the actual service ones here on the other side of the hanger. The small elevator actually went up and through the entire villa, but the button down to the Thunderbird’s hanger was usually hidden away behind a turned-over panel. 

The door closed, and Scott ran his hand under his hat and through his hair. Christ, all he could think about was being able to go upstairs and take a break. He took a twig out of his hair, folded his hat up in his hands and waited for his stop. 

There was a clank. A loud, ‘ _oh no_ ’ clack. Scott was able to catch himself on the side of the wall with a sharp and rather undignified ‘nyeh,’ but nothing was hurt. He paused, checked his balance, and then pressed for the first floor again. 

A second jolt, but not nearly as violent. There was a screeching of metal from right above for a few moments before the machine just gave up and stopped. Scott kicked the panel, and was greeted by another bang front somewhere else in the shaft that didn’t sound like it shouldn’t have been able to bang like that. 

Ah! Fantastic. This was just what he needed. 

Scot opened up and pressed the emergency call button. His father was the one to answer, his voice coming from a speaker somewhere in the ceiling. “Scott?”

“Uh, Elevator 2 isn’t moving,” Scott reported. That was obvious enough. 

There was the sound of rustled papers from the other line, “Oh yes, I can see the error light.”

Scott looked up at the lights on the headboard above the door. “I’m uh, somewhere between Thunderbird 1’s hanger and ground - closer to ground, I’m not sure what’s happened.” 

“Looks like it, correct. Hang tight and we’ll sort it out.” 

* * *

A couple of minutes passed. Not a lot of minutes, but they felt like a lot since Scott had nothing but his own thoughts to distract himself with. 

There was a soft, though sudden bang on the ceiling, followed by the sound of footsteps. Scott almost reached for his gun out of surprise, but chalked the muscle memory up from a lack of sleep. There was a second bang followed by even more footsteps, and then a loud rattling from above. 

A panelling, large enough for a person to climb in and out easily got lifted up, and a blond head poked its way through to smile down to him. 

Scott could feel the energy leaving his body as if he had just been left hanging for a high-five. 

It was Alan. 

Alan in his full uniform; hat and all. He had even slicked his hair back under it and was clearly enjoying himself, trying his best to hide a snicker. “Hello Mr Tracy,” Alan began, a full ‘customer service’ voice on and all, “We’re from International Rescue and are here to help.” 

Scott sighed. “What are you doing?”

“Rescuing you,” his brother answered. _Wasn’t it obvious?_ “That’s kind of our thing, Sir.” The ‘thing’ was punctuated by Alan pointing to the logo on the side of his hat. 

“In _uniform_?” Scott asked, sounding far less than amused. 

Alan tipped his hat, almost losing it to the forces of gravity in the process, “We at ‘ _eye-ar_ ’ like to pride ourselves on a high standard,” he replied with a smile. 

Alan definitely knew that Scott viscerally _hated_ when International Rescue was shortened like that, and Scott knew that Alan knew that. The two of them also both knew that Alan (literally) had the high ground in the conversation, so Scott couldn’t do anything to stop him. 

Scott pressed the call button again. “ _Fath-,_ ” 

“-This counts as a rescue, Scott. Alan can wear his uniform,” The voice on the other line replied, clearly already having more context on the situation than Scott was going to be given. 

Tin-Tin poked her own head out next. The worst part was that she was _also_ in uniform. Well, Jeff Tracy’s gold-piped hat, but it was a valid uniform regardless. “Don’t worry, Mr Tracy, it appears to just be an electronic problem up here on this bit, so you can just hang tight where you are as we address it,” she reported with a professional tone. 

“I hate the both of you.” 

“Oh, don’t be so mean,” She replied, barley doing any better than Alan was to keep her composure, “International Rescue is only here to help.” 

Scott had no choice but to accept his fate. “Alright, International Rescue, do your thing.” 

-

There was more conversation from on top of the elevator, a good chunk of it over a radio to what one could assume to be Brains (based on the fact that he would be the only person on the island who could know how to repair an elevator, and from his voice coming out of the radio) and another good chunk laughing at Scott’s expense. How these two could find this situation so hilarious was beyond Scott, but he let them have it. 

There was a faint roar and shake from another part of the island, the repair crew paused and listened, “The others are back pretty early,” Tin-Tin noticed. 

Alan smiled at her and brought the radio to his face, “Hey, Thunderbird 2-.” 

“- _Don’t-_ ,” Scott tried to object from his self-contained prison. 

“-Scott got stuck in an elevator,” Alan sang. 

You could hear a single, ecstatic ‘HA’ from Virgil on the other line. 

Scott just rolled his eyes. “It’s really not that funny,” he yelled into a sky. Whether Virgil heard him or not wasn’t important, the damage was already done. 

The pair kept working for another minute or so before the lights inside of the elevator flickered off rather dramatically. 

“…. Alan,” Scott began, tapping his foot on the floor. 

“No – no wait hang on - I know what I’m doing,” Alan called in a tone that showcased that he really didn’t. There was a scuffle of bodies and tools as a part was put back into place, and then the internal lights flicked back on with a ‘ding’. “Try now,” he reported, leaning back to look at Scott through the panel. 

“With you two on top?”

Alan ‘Mhm-hm’ed with a nod. “There’s a railing, we’ll be fine.” 

Scott pressed for up, there was a jolt much alike the ones at the start. Somebody hit something and got it all working smoothly once more. 

-

Tin-Tin and Alan were helped off the top of the elevator by a now-present Virgil, and Gordon was able to take the restraints off the door in time for Scott to smoothly meet them up there in it. “Ta-da,” Scott sang like a disappointed father with his hands out once the door opened. “I’m alive.” 

Virgil ‘woo’ed,’ Gordon offered a soft clap as Alan and Tin-Tin took their bows. 

* * *

“Successful rescue?” His father asked as he put down his pen once the boys (and Tin-Tin, of course, she counts) all entered his office. 

Alan quickly dotted in front of Scott before he was able to answer. “Yes Sirie,” He reported with a fancy twirl of his wrist in a salute. 

“Good,” Mr Tracy replied with his usual dad dementor, “Good man.” 

“Hello, I am also here,” Scott said as he poked himself out from behind Alan. And back from a 30-solid-hour landslide rescue, but the excitement of that was now long passed. 

“All safe and sound?” Mr Tracy asked him. 

“Yes. Yes I am. This whole family thinks it’s hilarious, doesn’t it?” Scott reported, crossing his arms. 

“We are,” “Yep,” and “You got it,” was just a sampling of the verbal responses from the rest of the room that he was given. 

Scott just sighed. Honestly, he needed to lower his expectations with this lot. 

And have a shower. He had dibs, after all.


End file.
